


gossamer

by 2manyboys



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Face-Fucking, Flirting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2manyboys/pseuds/2manyboys
Summary: “You’re making this poem seem filthier than I’ve ever read it.”
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 59
Kudos: 471





	gossamer

As Joe steps out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist he sees Nicky lying on their bed, on his back, feet towards the pillows. His head is hanging off the end and he’s holding a book in front of his face. 

“Comfortable?” Joe teases. It’s far from the strangest position Joe’s found him reading in but it’s still endearing every time. 

After a momentary pause to finish a paragraph, Nicky glances at Joe upside-down and quirks a smile. “I am, and you’ll be glad to know that from this new angle you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Glad doesn’t begin to describe it,” Joe flirts back, “But it’s not a new angle.”

“Is it not?” Nicky asks, setting his book down on his chest, content to continue looking his fill of half-naked and wet Joe, though the blood must be rushing to his head. “How are you so sure, azizi?”

Joe moves closer without speaking, stepping in front of Nicky until his field of vision is full of Joe’s towel. He sets his hand on Nicky’s throat, warm and intimately familiar, applying no pressure. Now Nicky remembers. He looks up and meets Joe’s eyes, smiling down at Nicky like it’s funny he could have forgotten. His expression changes as Nicky reaches out and undoes the knot on his towel. 

It drops to the floor at Joe’s feet. His hand on Nicky’s throat shifts as Joe slowly moves closer, close enough for Nicky to hold the backs of his thighs in silent encouragement. Joe strokes at Nicky’s neck with both hands and asks, “Yeah?” 

Nicky digs his fingers in and Joe shuffles a half step closer, close enough that his cock rests against Nicky’s chin. Joe leans forward, bracing his hands against the bed beside Nicky’s chest and laughs as Nicky sucks at his balls, question answered. 

“We have time for this?” Joe asks. Nicky really doesn’t know why he’s bothering, he’s not about to answer when it will only delay him shifting his head back off the bed a little more, gripping Joe’s cock, and feeding it into his mouth. It has been a while since they’ve done it in this exact position, but Nicky’s an old pro at relaxing his throat and taking Joe deep. 

Joe lets Nicky coax him to hardness, holding still, lifting a hand off the bed to - if Nicky had to bet - tease at his nipples. Nicky suckles at the head at first, eyes closed, the sloppy kind of making out Joe likes no matter what part of him Nicky’s kissing. Joe doesn’t rush him but it’s not long until he’s eager for more and Nicky knows he’s holding back thrusts. He’s groaning Nicky’s name, so perfect and adoring it’s making Nicky wish he’d taken his pants off before they started this. 

There’s really only one way to give a blowjob in this position. Slowly, Joe pushes in. Nicky’s lips work at his length as he goes, adjusting, until Joe’s balls are up against his nose and Nicky is holding all of him, not quite breathing. Joe doesn’t linger there for long, just enough to say, in a quiet voice, like maybe he forgot too, “Fuck, that’s good.” 

The rest of this is mostly Joe’s work, Nicky gets to lie there and take it, again and again, gets Joe’s hands petting at his throat and chest, Joe’s voice and his moans, all for Nicky.

Nicky’s all for him too, holding steady so Joe can fuck his face, rude and perfect. He builds up his thrusts, going a little faster and a little deeper as Nicky continues to take it, letting Nicky breathe but still using him, still chasing the wet heat of his mouth. Nicky has a bet going with himself that Joe’s going to break soon, three thrusts, two, one, but Joe just barely outlasts his estimate. It’s like he can read Nicky’s mind and wants to prove something. God, Nicky loves him. 

“Is ah- Can I- on your throat okay, baby? Don’t want to choke you.” 

Ironic, since he has been choking Nicky with it, and Nicky’s shifting his own hips up at how fucking good it feels. He means he doesn’t want Nicky to choke trying to swallow his come as he fucks it into Nicky’s throat. That would be an embarrassing way to die, so Nicky taps once on the back of Joe’s thigh to say _yes_.

The head of his cock barely pops free of Nicky’s mouth before he comes, messy, a glob of it dripping down the side of Nicky’s face before he manages to aim at Nicky’s throat. Nicky licks his lips and gasps for breath as Joe shoots out from his Adam’s Apple to down past his collarbones. Nicky replaces Joe’s hand with his when Joe seems done, sucking at just the head again to taste, bookending this particular blowjob with renewed attention to the ridge and slit because he knows Joe will shake and whine and give him just a little bit more. 

Joe gets his feet under him and slowly rearranges them, starting with setting Nicky’s book carefully aside. He cups a hand around the back of Nicky’s head and slowly lifts him up and around, Nicky only vaguely participating and mostly licking at his own raw lips and mouth. Joe gave it to him good this time, but it won’t be long until the feeling disappears and he wants to enjoy it while it lasts. Turns out, so does Joe. 

He sits back against the headboard and pulls Nicky up between his legs, kissing him and biting at his lips while he undoes Nicky’s pants. Nicky participates a lot more in getting those off, groaning into Joe’s mouth when he gets a grip on Nicky’s cock and squeezes. 

“Talk to me, baby?” Joe coaxes, because he knows. 

Nicky’s voice comes out rough like sandpaper, like he’s doing an impression, like he’s trying too hard to be sexy. It _is_ sexy, because they both know Joe’s cock did that. “What do you want me to say?”

While he’s talking Joe strokes him, slow, languid, two rolls of his wrist. Joe stops when he does and Nicky is overcome with the sudden urge to bite him. This is cruel, it’s delicious. The way his throat feels when he speaks is almost too much. 

“Anything, Nicolò. Tell me about your book?”

“I don’t remember my book.” Nicky says, half joking, just to get another couple of strokes that make him close his eyes and tilt his head back. Joe’s hands are perfect, practiced at taking him apart. 

“Poetry, then?” Joe asks, just holding. He knows Nicky borrows words when he can’t find his own. Nicky fists both hands in the covers and doesn't thrust, doesn’t cheat, thinking. It’s suddenly very hard to remember a single verse, a single line.

He clears his throat and already it sounds less gruff as he manages, “And you O my soul where you stand… _fuck_.”

“Hmm.” Joe says, pausing with him, this game dragging out what might have been something quick and sharp into a molten feeling spreading throughout Nicky’s body. He melts into Joe, laughing softly when Joe kisses the side of his head and says, “I don't think Whitman said that.”

“He must have.” Nicky argues, squirming and talking more just so Joe won’t stop for a bit, “Not in this poem but he must have said it, he certainly got up to- ah!” 

Joe stops as Nicky’s hips kick up and his mouth stops moving. He has an arm across Nicky’s chest, keeping him spooned close, and raises that hand up to Nicky’s throat where his come is drying. Joe touches his fingers to one of those streaks pointedly, saying, “You’re making this poem seem filthier than I’ve ever read it.”

“ _That_ isn’t ‘gossamer’.” Nicky says, settling back from desperation to let Joe play with him like this, to enjoy it. He tries switching to Italian, to see if it will be easier on his throat. “Don’t take the line out of context like I know you want to.”

Joe is laughing softly, giving Nicky the slowest handjob in the world, rubbing hard with his thumb as he quotes, in a deliberately breathy voice, “It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself.” He pauses after each ‘filament’, stroking Nicky’s cock along with them, adding a few extra for show. 

“You’re terrible.” Nicky groans. “That’s not ‘filament’ either, repeating it doesn’t make it sexier.”

“O my soul.” Joe says, meaning it, naming him, and making a counter argument too, pointing out that Whitman repeats. He strokes Nicky slow, toying with his foreskin, then does it again, then again. On the fourth time Nicky stops just watching and realizes that’s part of Joe’s argument too.

“You bastard.” He says, in French. This combination makes him sound like he’s a heavy smoker. Joe laughs and stops moving again. 

“Please talk, Nicky. Your voice right now, your voice all the time, I love it so much.”

“You’re the one who turned this into a filthy reading of a poem I love.” Back to Italian. 

“I can't help that everything you say sounds like sex.”

“You did this. You’re why I sound this way.” In Arabic this time, but that makes it worse, the scrape of his throat catching on the consonants. 

Joe loves it, groans, “Yes. More.”

“If you say ‘filament’ again when I come, I’m going to kill you.”

“Nothing noiseless or patient about you.” Joe agrees. 

“Not a mouse, not a spider. What am I, Joe?”

“Mine.” Joe whispers, kissing him, repeating it as he sets his hand over Nicky’s throat again, as he strokes him hard and fast, “Mine, mine, mine.”

“Oh.” Nicky gasps, clutching at Joe’s arm hard, a nonverbal signal not to stop, “Oh, oh my soul.”

He comes into Joe’s fist, pushing his hips up into it, dripping down his fingers. The world slows down as the pure pleasure of it flows through him, buzzing like white noise and warming him down to the tips of his fingers. Nicky feels Joe’s lips at his temple again, a whispered, “Perfect.” 

Nicky hums a wordless reply, letting his eyes close, enjoying the simple feeling of Joe at his back and the knowledge that he’s never been more comfortable than he is like this, wrung out by poetry and Joe’s hand. It’s a weightless love, featherlight and floating. The sweetness of their mutual satisfaction and the safety of laying in bed in Joe’s arms is all he ever wants, selfishly. 

Joe, to his credit, does wait until after Nicky’s caught his breath to whisper, “Filament.” Nicky still rolls over and pins him to the bed for it, giving in to the urge to bite. 

That turns into making out, which turns into Joe wrapping his legs around Nicky and grinding them together.

“We definitely don’t have time for this,” Joe whispers, kissing Nicky again, “But I want you to fuck me.”

“No one’s come knocking.”

Joe leans back and pouts because Nicky’s voice is back to normal, no trace of that roughness any longer. “Nile will, we said we’d take her to lunch. She’s not afraid of your sex noises anymore.”

“ _My_ sex noises! Hayati, you-“

There’s a knock at the door, to the tune of shave-and-a-haircut. They look at each other. Joe drops his legs from around Nicky’s waist and groans dramatically, loud enough that Nile definitely hears it. She laughs from the other side of the door. 

“Ten minutes?” Nicky calls, mindful of the mess they’ve made and the way Joe is still nude. 

“Ten or I’ll leave without you!” Nile agrees. Nicky’s stomach growls, signal enough to him and Joe that they won’t be letting that happen this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Can’t sleep so I’m posting this. My apologies to Whitman. And to you, dear reader, if you stopped in the middle to read _A Noiseless Patient Spider_.


End file.
